1919 by John Dos Passos Page A

“Them’s geese, boss,” said the old colored man in a soft voice. When he climbed onboard everybody started kidding him and declared he looked all wore out. Joe didn’t know what to say so he talked big and kidded back and lied like a fish.

Newsreel XXI
Goodby Broadway
         
Hello France
We’re ten million strong
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    8 YEAR OLD BOY SHOT BY LAD WITH RIFLE
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    the police have already notified us that any entertainment in Paris must be brief and quietly conducted and not in public view and that we have already had more dances than we ought
    capitalization grown 104% while business expands 520%
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    HAWAIIAN SUGAR CONTROL LOST BY GERMANS
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    efforts of the Bolshevik Government to discuss the withdrawal of the U.S. and allied forces from Russia through negotiation for an armistice are attracting no serious attention
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    BRISTISH AIRMAN FIGHTS SIXTY FOES
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    SERBIANS ADVANCE 10 MILES; TAKE 10 TOWNS ;
MENACE PRILEP
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Good morning
       
Mr. Zip Zip Zip
You’re surely looking fine
Good morning
       
Mr. Zip Zip Zip
With your hair cut just as short as
  
With your hair cut just as short as
   
With your hair cut just as short as mine
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    LENINE REPORTED ALIVE
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    AUDIENCE AT HIPPODROME TESTIMONIALS MOVED TO
CHEERS AND TEARS
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    several different stories have come to me well authenticated concerning the depth of Hindenburg’s brutality; the details are too horrible for print.      They relate to outraged womanhood and girlhood, suicide and blood of the innocent that wet the feet of Hindenburg
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    WAR DECREASES MARRIAGES AND BIRTHS
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Oh ashes to ashes
         
And dust to dust
If the shrapnel dont get you
         
Then the eightyeights must

The Camera Eye (29)
    the raindrops fall one by one out of the horsechestnut tree over the arbor onto the table in the abandoned beergarden and the puddly gravel and my clipped skull where my fingers move gently forward and back over the fuzzy knobs and hollows
    spring and we’ve just been swimming in the Marne way off somewhere beyond the fat clouds on the horizon they are hammering on a tin roof      in the rain in the spring after a swim in the Marne with that hammering to the north pounding the thought of death into our ears
    the winey thought of death stings in the spring blood that throbs in the sunburned neck      up and down the belly under the tight belt      hurries like cognac into the tips of my toes and the lobes of my ears and my fingers stroking the fuzzy closecropped skull
    shyly tingling fingers feel out the limits of the hard immortal skull under the flesh      a deathshead and skeleton sits wearing glasses in the arbor under the lucid occasional raindrops inside the new khaki uniform inside my twentyoneyearold body that’s been swimming in the Marne in red and whitestriped trunks in Chalons in the spring

Richard Ellsworth Savage
    The years Dick was little he never heard anything about his Dad, but when he was doing his homework evenings up in his little room in the attic he’d start thinking about him sometimes; he’d throw himself on the bed and lie on his back trying to remember what he had been like and Oak Park and everything before Mother had been so unhappy and they had had to come east to live with Aunt Beatrice. There was the smell of bay rum and cigarsmoke and he was sitting on the back of an upholstered sofa beside a big man in a panama hat who shook the sofa when he laughed; he held on to Dad’s back and punched his arm and the muscle was hard like a chair or a table and when Dad laughed he could feel it rumble in his back, “Dicky, keep your dirty feet off my palm beach suit,” and he was on his hands and knees in the sunlight that poured through the lace curtains of the window trying to